From early on, looking for an answer,
One single, clear explanation enthralled,
To ease an intellectual fracture
Of how this grayish world came to be called
The home of many, of various kind,
Together and apart, hopelessly walled
From an origin they're hoping to find.
Wandering in thought, as nomads by birth,
Was it a good God - or a watchmaker blind?
Upon their suspicion they base their worth.
Where are we from, the argument begins.
A battle for high ground, there is no mirth.
Each to his own thoughts, on this earth, it spins,
Until tribe against tribe - and no one wins.
©Eusebeia Philos 2013
A Terza Rima Sonnet written for dVerse Poets ~ Form for All ~ Terza Rima
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| Photo credit Photo Pin |
Seed of Hope
Late summer, when the sun sets in the field,
we walked, anxious, down the green, grassy slope
to the bench, a seat of inspiration.
Low in the sky, a cloud became a shield,
I fell under shadow, your loves elope
as someone recites your incantation.
Disgorging the pain, long held - now unsealed,
our distance grew, spirits began to grope
through the heavy winter months of ashen.
Now, light lingers, the snow begins to yield,
uncovering the pearl of treasured hope,
a seed of spring green, our love refreshen.
Consent to begin, no hurts left to wield,
sharing a new season - to be revealed.
©Eusebeia Philos 2013
Written as a sonnet for dVerse~Poets Pub on Form for All: On Midwinter, Magic Realism, and a Trireme Sonnet
